


Writers Block

by CynicalRainbows



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: F/F, Families of Choice, Fluff and Angst, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-13 08:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21491086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynicalRainbows/pseuds/CynicalRainbows
Summary: In which Cathy is bad at self care but good at overworking herself and Anne uses her Chaotic Gremlin powers for Good.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 166





	1. Chapter 1

When Anne bursts through her bedroom door, Cathy really wants to hit her.

(Not that she’s ever hit anyone really- in either of her lives. But looking at Anne grinning and swinging back and forth a bit on the open door, she imagines it would feel rather satisfying.

And god knows, she needs something to feel good about. Her eyes ache from staring at her laptop screen- her stupid, blank, empty laptop screen that refuses to turn into a fully written document, no matter how hard she glares at it- and her wrists are cramping from hours of endlessly typing and then deleting sentence after sentence. At the base of her skull, the beginnings of what promises to be one hell of a headache begins to throb.

It’s been five days- three days since she lost her appetite and two days since she stopped sleeping for more than ten minutes at a time- and the writing rut she somehow managed to fall into. Just. Won’t. End.

Nothing she’s typed for the last few days has sounded good, even in her own head: she’s all out of ideas, all out of innovation. Her newest book- something that she’s sure she’d been excited about, once upon a time- has become a millstone around her neck and she’s barely even begun it.

But… she’s talked about it now- people have begun to speculate excitedly about it on twitter. It’s too late to say she’s changed her mind- especially when it seems like every other mention of it online is begging her to write faster, to go faster.

_ ‘So excited- don’t think I’ll be able to wait til it’s published!’ ‘Oh my god I’m counting down the minutes!’ ‘I want it nowwwwwww!’ _

Once, such comments made her feel flattered, invigorated. Now they feel like veiled threats.

It’s not that she doesn’t have a lot written. It’s that she has nothing written- whatever she tries, she ends up deleting, and although she knows that writing is a process, that a first draft is simply that- a first draft- she’s never felt like this before.

Burnt out. Empty.

Honestly, it scares her.

It doesn’t help that, working from home, she’s subjected to what feels like an endless barrage of interruptions from the other queens.

First it’s Kitty, calling through her door that Jane has made pancakes for breakfast (it sounds as if the giver of the message is running- rather than walking- along the landing and down the stairs, a suspicion then confirmed by what sounds like the youngest queen jumping down the last few steps). Then there’s Anne’s shouted demand that Kitty not use the last of the Nutella this time- it’s slightly muffled by doors and distance and not directed at Cathy but it’s still more than a little distracting. 

There’s Aragon, calling a general warning that the next person to borrow her hairdryer without asking should prepare themselves for many unpleasant things to happen to them-  _ ‘And I mean it this time!’.  _ There’s Jane- in the next room- asking Kitty if she wants anything from Costa (and Cathy doesn’t need to be there to see Jane’s slightly perplexed expression when Kitty asks for a small frappe with ‘as much caramel syrup as they’ll agree to put in the cup, please’.)

And then there’s Anna, knocking and asking if she’s coming down for lunch-  _ How is it lunchtime already?-  _ and perhaps her reply is shorter and sharper than she intends because it feels like no time at all before Jane’s tapping on the door too, asking if she’s alright, if she’s sick, if she needs anything?

Really, all Cathy needs is to be left alone- or, better still, for everyone to go out for a few hours- or days- so that she can just try to focus…but she can’t say that to Jane, she knows. 

Still, it’s so frustrating: every interruption cuts off her train of thought and although she isn’t really getting anywhere, shoe does wonder every time if perhaps she really had been on the cusp of a good idea at last...

Her attempts to sound well and normal are in vain because then it’s Catalina outside.

‘Cathy?’

Her ‘Mmm?’ is as politely interested as she can manage.

‘Are you alright?’

‘I’m-’  _ Just tired _ , she means to say. She really is too- the sort of bone-deep weariness that feels almost like an ache all over. But her head is also buzzing too much for her to rest- work to be done, work to be done, and behind it, the little seed of fear that has been steadily growing, fed by days of unproductiveness: What if this lasts forever?

It would feel good to be able to unburden herself to her godmother- to let her listen and nod silently as she always did, thinking carefully before answering and never wasting words on things she didn’t mean. Part of her wants to open the door- to let Catalina wrap her up in a hug and reassure her that all would be well- but she knows she can’t.

Opening the door will mean a hug, yes, but it will also likely lead to questions about is she getting enough sleep and whether she’s eating properly and when did she last shower, none of which she particularly wants to have to answer…. So she substitutes ‘Fine!’ for tired, even though the faux-perkiness in her own voice makes her wince a bit.

There’s a brief pause- Cathy can almost see Catalina raising one unimpressed eyebrow.

‘You’re not.’

‘No, really. I’m ok. Just busy.’

‘I’m worried about you. So are the others. You’re working too hard, and it isn’t healthy.’

‘I’m really ok.’

‘You’re a really bad liar, Cathy.’

One thing her godmother isn’t is equivocating. Blunt and sometimes tactless yes but never evasive.

Cathy chews her lip as she tries to think of the magic words that will get her godmother to leave easily, feeling a little spark of panic when nothing comes to mind- but all of a sudden, she feels a prick of anger too. Why is she being forced to spend time reassuring them all when she’s the one with the crushing workload, the endless empty pages to fill? If they care- if they really, really care- why can’t they all just be quieter, why is she being forced to take up more of her precious time and energy to field their interruptions?

The anger bubbles up quickly, too quickly for her to push it back, and her shout for Catalina to just leave her alone, leave her alone and stop nagging her because she’s sick of it, is a surprise even to herself.

But it’s more of a surprise when she hears her godmothers footsteps retreating down the hall. She’s relieved- relieved….but also a bit shocked. Catalina never backs down so easily….and suddenly the relief gives way to worry.

_ Why  _ has she given up so easily?

She tries to focus on the fact that she’s now free to work again- but the concern gnaws away at her as she stares at the keyboard.

Why has Catalina just left if she’s as worried as she had professed to be? Was she really angry- angry enough that her worry had been expunged? 

(Has she stopped caring?)

Was one outburst all it took to turn someone’s feelings around?

Cathy immediately berates herself internally for even asking this.

Of course it’s that easy- experience has taught her that.

_ The death warrant had felt light in her hand- lighter than it should, considering the weight it carried. She had rubbed her fingers over and over the smooth wax of the King’s seal, tracing the pattern. Had he been thinking of her as he’d pressed it down? Or had his mind moved on, already planning for himself the life he would have- the wife he would have- after she was gone? _

_ Her ladies had impressed upon her the need for a great show of emotion in order to win him back but in the end, it hadn’t been at all difficult to cry as she begged for her life. When it was all over, she hadn’t been able to stop shaking. She was careful to never argue with him after that. _

She wants to run after her godmother, to apologise, to beg Catalina to forgive her lapse….but then she thinks of how much she has to do, how many people are waiting, waiting, waiting for her to finish something that she hasn’t even started… and she knows she can’t. She can’t stop work until she has something, anything- She tries to blink away the sudden burning behind her eyelids and swallows hard.

Her hands hover over the keys.

_ Just- something. Please. Please- _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments!

The door bursts open and suddenly Anne Boylyn is in her bedroom without even bothering to knock first, and Cathy has to clench her fists to stop herself from jumping up to push the girl out onto the landing.

‘Hi Cathy’

She’s chewing gum- the sickly sweet smell of fake watermelon makes Cathy’s stomach roll- and something about it just adds to Anne’s general aura of deliberate obnoxiousness.

‘Get out. I’m busy.’

‘Well that’s not very friendly.’

She turns back to her laptop and doesn’t respond.

‘God, you’re going to get cancer or something, being chained to that thing all day. Don’t you ever take a break?’

She’d like to have a clever response but her brain feels too frazzled to come up with anything.

‘Laptops don’t give you cancer.’ (At least, she hopes they don’t. She’s fucked if they do.)

‘Not when used normally. You’re on it like always though.’

She opens her mouth to protest but she can’t- it’s true after all.

‘Don’t you get tired of working all the time?’

‘No.’

She wants nothing more at that moment than for Anne to stop talking but of course she doesn’t.

‘I think I’d hate it-’

‘Well I don’t.’

‘I would, I definitely get sick of it-’

Anne’s voice is almost singsong now- without even looking to Cathy for permission, she flops down onto her neatly made bed (it was after all easy to keep a bed neatly made if you didn’t actually get into it to sleep), bouncing slightly on the well-sprung mattress.

‘I dont get how you can just sit in here on your own for hours and hours, just working and working….I think I’d get that sickness that you were telling us about…the thing that the prairie settlers got…. Cabin fever? Cathy? Did I get it right?’

‘Yes.’ She has to grit her teeth.  _ Why can’t she be quiet? _

‘I’d get tired if I worked like you do- and you don’t even eat….’

‘I do-’

‘Caffeine tablets and energy bars don’t count as actual food, you know that right?’

Of course she knows- but she can’t waste time with meals when she’s got so much to do. 

(And does she even deserve to eat, if she can’t write even a short sentence? Writing is, after all, her  _ thing _ , and what’s the point of a writer who can’t write?)

‘I…. just like to stay focused.’

‘Babes, if you were any more focused, you’d be…’ Anne paused. ‘Ok I can’t think of anything but it was going to be hilarious. Probably.’

Of course Anne is making jokes. It’s not as if she cares really- she’s most likely just tormenting Cathy out of boredom.

_ And she had successfully managed to drive away probably the only person who really did care... _

‘I’d just get bored too- looking at the same thing day after day…’

It’s harder and harder to respond, she’s having to actually clench her first to hold herself together. It feels like Anne is taunting her on purpose: she’s having to lie and a real writer wouldn’t have to lie, a real writer would actually enjoy the work….. But then a real writer wouldn’t be having to battle themselves in order to actually get anything written.

_ Because you’re not a real writer. You’re a pathetic failure. _

‘-after day after day-’

_ You’ve already let Catalina down, and soon you’ll have to admit to all your fans that you’re letting them down too. Not to mention the other queens. _

‘-after day after day-’

_ They see you as a writer too- what will you be when you don’t even have that? _

‘-after day after day after-’

‘Shut up!’

The shout burst from her- at least, she intends to shout. It comes out almost like a wail.

‘Stop it, just stop it! Of course I hate it- did you ever think of that? Of course I hate it- I hate writing and I hate just looking at the blank page and hoping I’m going to come up with something but knowing that I won’t because I’m too- and you rubbing it in doesn’t help, ok! But yes since you ask, I am sick of it, I’m sick of all of it and I’m clearly not going to come up with anything ever, no matter how much time I waste on it-’

She can hear her voice shaking and god it’s humiliating, its humiliating to lose control like this generally but especially so to be practically crying in front of Anne of all people (chilled out, funny Anne, who never seems to get stressed or overwrought about anything, who can laugh at anything)- but she can’t help herself because now she’s saying it, she knows it’s true.

‘I’ve ruined everything, I’ve let everyone down- or I will soon anyway- and now Catalina hates me, I should just give up, I’m not getting anywhere anyway-’

Adrenalin is coursing through her- she needs an outlet, she needs to- She grabs at the papers stacked untidily on her desk, knocking half of them to the floor in the process, and rips them in half. 

(It’s not like she’ll need them now anyway.)

‘No!’

For someone sprawled out lazily one minute, Anne moves quickly- like a flash, she’s up, off the bed and covering Cathy’s hands with her own.

‘Ok look I- I need you to just stay completely still for two minutes, alright- can you do that for me?

She’s looking at Cathy so urgently that she nods, albeit shakily- and then Anne is gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone who frequently gets overwhelmed with pressure at work (and has indulged in some not-very-adult hitting my computer mouse repeatedly against my desk) I can confirm that sometimes you just have to tear things up to feel ok again.
> 
> Also it is firmly my headcanon that West End!Anne is subject to exact same awfulness that poor Courtney Bowman got/gets subjected too and nothing will change my mind.

Left alone, she’s breathing hard, shaking with emotion. Her eyes feel hot. The strips of paper crumple in her fists and one drops to the floor.

Seeing it there is both a pang and a relief.

When Anne comes back a minute later, she’s got a messy pile of mismatched pages in her arms- Cathy can just about make out Catalina’s elegant sloping script, Jane’s nearly-illegible scrawl, doodles of flowers and cats and dogs that are doubtless the work of Anna and Kitty.

Old copies of the script- of course they don’t need them now.

‘Here-’ With surprising gentleness, Anne takes the strips of paper from her hands and presses the stack against her chest instead- instinctively, Cathy takes it. ‘You look like you need to keep on with the tearing-up thing but…..’ She pauses. ‘I don’t want you to rip up anything that you might like need later so-’ She nods to the pages. ‘This is all stuff that was getting recycled anyway-’

Cathy just looks at her.

‘Go on-’ Anne tilts her head. ‘I’m sorry interrupted you- Just didn’t want you to have to spend the rest of the day taping stuff back up together…’

She has to bite back a bitter laugh at that. Anne clearly doesn’t realise how bad things are- does she not understand that Cathy has already failed at this?

When Cathy doesn’t move, she sighs. 

‘Fine. I’ll help you get started but only because I know that if you don’t ride these things out to the end, it only comes back to get you later…’

(It makes Cathy wonder when Anne has ever experienced this sort of  _ thing _ before- she’s certainly managed to miss it, but the thought that Anne maybe understands, at least in her own way, makes her feel slightly less embarrassed.)

With that, Anne snatches up a few sheets and starts shredding them enthusiastically.

After a moment, she pauses.

‘Go on. You have to do some too, or it’s just me making a mess. You obviously need to like break something...and trust me, Aragon and Jane will be super pissed if you just randomly start on something else in the house. Trust me.’

Through her haze, Cathy sort of wants to ask the details of this story. Except it’s not really the time.

‘Ok-’

She extends her hand and Anne gives her some pages, nodding encouragingly. She tears- tentatively at first and then with more abandon.

‘Feels good doesn’t it?’

She nods. It’s surprising just how satisfying it feels to give in and destroy something after so many days of trying desperately to hold herself together.

Of course, to really make it work, you need to shout as well.’ Anne says it very matter of factly, as if she’s telling Cathy that washing up really  _ is _ easier when water is used.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Like this-’

Anne takes a few more pages.

(Cathy can just about make out several games of noughts and crosses and what looks like a scribbled out recipe with multiple crossings out, annotations and smudges that were either blood or dried tomato passata. Honestly, since the handwriting looks like Anna’s, she’s really not sure which it is.)

She raises them above her head dramatically before tearing them into tiny pieces.

‘Fuck you, bitch at the stagedoor who said you didn’t care about getting my autograph! Fuck you, man on the underground who kept staring at my tits! Fuck you, dog that woke me up barking this morning!’

She turns to Cathy. ‘Like that. Just shout out whatever you’re annoyed by and tear the something the fuck to pieces and you end up really like calm after. Anna taught me.’

She takes a few more sheets.

‘Fuck you, prick on insta who said my streams were boring! Fuck you, guy on twitter who keeps saying i need to go on a diet! Fuck you, everyone who keeps saying they like the alts better! -I don’t care who they prefer but do they really need to keep telling me?’ She adds in her normal tone.

Cathy feels a bit stunned. She actually had no idea people were doing that. God, Anne has kept it together well though- if people said that about her she can’t imagine how she’d be able to keep doing the show…

_ They’ll be saying stuff about you soon enough. Once you tell them you’re giving up. _

She stamps the thought down as hard as she can.

‘...I’m so sorry….’

Anne’s smile wavers for a fraction of a second. ‘It’s all fine…’ She glances at the mess at their feet uncertainly. ‘Look, I know I said you have to join in but its ok if you don’t want to- I promise I won’t like make you or anything. I’ll even leave you in peace, if you still want.’

Cathy’s fit of angst has passed over a bit- at least, the moment is over- and now she feels like it would be a bit silly to indulge in a proper tantrum...but to turn Anne away now- now that she’s actually gone to some trouble to make Cathy feel ok about unburdening herself- it would just feel mean.

‘No…. it’s ok.’ She tries to smile- it’s not quite as hard as she had expected it to be. ‘I’m just not used to this sort of thing…’

‘Maybe you should try it more.’

‘Perhaps-’ She seizes her courage (and the very fact that she has to is embarrassing in itself- it’s not like she’s even doing anything that requires courage) along with a piece of paper (a series of notes from a single sheet being passed back and forth- she recognises her own handwriting along with what looks like Kitty’s), raises it up and takes a deep breath.

‘Sometimes, I hate writing.’


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some self projection onto Cathy here, i fear...

Her own voice sounds quiet and flat compared to Anne’s more energetic efforts-  _ pathetic, just like she is _ \- but Anne is beaming at her as if she’s actually  _ done _ something and that’s encouraging.

‘Sometimes, I hate research too. I hate all of it.’

It’s slightly louder but there’s still not much energy behind it. Even so… having said it out loud feels oddly pleasing. She’s said it- and Anne doesn’t look horrified. The roof hasn’t fallen in. no one has swept in to take away her credentials for her ingratitude.

‘I hate how it takes forever and I hate that I’m so tired all the time. I like writing but…. Sometimes I just want to rest, you know? We do the show and it’s like ‘Oh obviously Cathy’s going to work’ but sometimes I just want to chill out with you guys! But then I feel like I’m letting everyone down-’

Anne’s nodding at her frantically- ‘Keep going, keep going!’- so she does.

‘I can’t write anything else. I’ve been trying and trying and…. I’m just done. I don’t even care anymore, I don’t care if I finish the book or if I lose readers… I just want to not have to be working for a change because it’s too much, it’s too much to do as well as the show and I just, I can’t anymore- I dont have any ideas, I don’t have any plans, I don’t even know what I want to say anymore and nothing sounds good and…..’

With every word, it gets easier- it’s traitorous, it’s true.

‘-and I hate that I’m the only one to have to do all this, and I know I chose to and I know I like it…. but sometimes I don’t and now everyone expects things from me and it’s so hard because I’m letting everyone down, I’ve made Catalina hate me, and I’m meant to be the writer and I can’t even do that anymore-’

She can feel herself starting to cry- she tries to brush the tears away with her wrists but it doesn’t help, it just makes everything blur. She feels pathetic, she feels like a child. They’ve all seen Kitty cry, she’s even seen Jane give in to tears a couple of times….but she’s meant to be beyond this. 

She’s calm, she’s rational. (Except she isn’t.) Anne will surely be uncomfortable, and who can blame her, since Cathy is essentially just bewailing something that she brought entirely on herself. Perhaps if she doesn’t look at the other girl, Anne will be able to leave the room without it being too awkward-

And then arms- Anne’s arms- are wrapping around her, pulling her close. Her face ends up buried into the soft worn cotton of Anne’s green hoody and despite her best efforts, she hears herself let out a sob of pent up exhaustion and fear.

Anne doesn’t pull away- she just holds her more tightly and it’s a surprise, how strong her arms feel. For a smallish person, she feels reassuringly sturdy, stable. Safe.

(Or perhaps it’s just that it’s been a while since anyone touched her.)

‘It’s alright.’ Anne’s breath tickles her ear. ‘It’s all going to be ok.’ 

She’s grateful for the hug but platitudes have always irritated her- she wants to tell Anne that of course it isn’t alright- nothing is alright- but the thing is, she can’t really talk properly yet and her words are jumbled, blurry with tears. Anne seems to understand though.

‘We’ll fix this.’ Her voice is serious- it sounds like she actually means it. ‘We’ll sort something out, I promise. I know it feels awful right now and I don’t even blame you babes, but I promise, it’s all solvable. You just really need a break, huh?’

Cathy nods pathetically into Anne’s chest and Anne’s hand starts to rub across her tight shoulders.

‘Fuck your fans… I mean…. Not like literally or anything. Unless you want to. I guess.’ (It must be the muddled feeling brought on by the shouting and crying because why on earth would Anne sound almost jealous when talking about…..that? It’s surely proof Cathy is more sleep deprived than she thought)

‘Anyway….. What I mean is, you don’t owe them anything. You’ve given them two books and now you need to take care of yourself, ok?’

‘They’ll be….so disappointed….’ She knows it sounds a bit conceited to say it…..but it’s true (she wonders if Anne thinks she’s terribly egocentric…but she’s just shrugging, as if Cathy is right but that it doesn’t really matter. It’s the same way that she shrugs when Catalina warns her that her clothes will be creased if she throws them straight from the dryer onto her bedroom floor, or when Jane warns her that a bag of skittles does not a healthy breakfast make.)

‘I mean, probably? You’re an amazing writer.’ 

It’s a minor shock to Cathy to hear that Anne has actually read her work. She knows that the other queens have but Anne has never mentioned doing so, and Cathy isn’t exactly going to demand it of her- she hadn’t even expected the other queens to be interested, really. Not that Anne isn’t a reader- she must be, to have had such a reputation for learning in her first life- but….Cathy just assumed she wasn’t interested.

(She isn’t sure why the thought of Anne reading her work gives her butterflies- she’s sure she never felt them when she learnt that the others had read it…)

‘But books get delayed all the time. It’s just one of those things- people might whinge a bit but everyone who matters knows that you can’t force creativity. And you’ve already built up a good reputation- it’s not like you’re trying to get noticed, people know you can write already.’

Anne’s reassurance is welcome- but she also can’t suppress the flood of weariness that courses through her.

Having to justify herself, having to explain, having to find out the protocol for this… it has to be done, of course but….she’s tired. She’s just….so tired.

Then she realises she’s said it out loud. She expects Anne to be annoyed at her ingratitude- but when she risks a quick peep at the other queen’s face, there’s nothing there but sympathy.

‘I know babes. You won’t have to do it alone though, ok? I’ll talk to Jane and Aragon- I bet they’ll know more than I do, or they’ll know who to talk to anyway. Whatever. Just don’t worry about it- we’ll sort it all out for you ok?’

It sounds so reassuringly real when Anne says it like that- like she has people on her side, people to do her fighting for her when she’s not able to fight for herself. Funny that it has never occurred to her before that she could just...ask for help.

‘Thank you- I don’t know if it’ll be that easy… but thank you.’

‘We’ll make it work out.’ Anne repeats it stubbornly. ‘I’ll fight anyone you need me to.’

Cathy doesn’t want to ask if she means it literally or figuratively.

‘You can even-’

Anne draws back a bit and looks at her, serious now. ‘You can say it’s me if you need to.’

‘What?’

If you need like an excuse or something. If you don’t want to have to just say you’re tired. You can say it’s me. That I’m going through something, that you need to support me and you don’t have time to write. If you don’t want to ask for yourself.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh I don’t know- say I’m having post traumatic stress, say I’m having some intense therapy and you’re my support person. Say I’ve had a pregnancy scare- anything, I don’t care really. Just- if you need to make up a reason, I’ll back you up in anything you say. Just warn me first, ok?’

Anne really seems like she means it and her ernest expression makes Cathy’s throat tight all over again- the way she offers without hesitation, as if it doesn't even matter. She likes to think she’d do a lot for the other queens but she can’t imagine promising to fake a pregnancy scare for any of them- at least, not without seriously thinking it through first.

(It’s not as if she’d actually ask Anne to do that for her either… but the fact that she offered…. It makes her feel lighter, lighter than she has in weeks.

She wants to tell Anne how grateful she is…. But it turns out that all she can manage is a mumbled thank-you before she’s crying again. This time, they’re tears of relief. She feels so much  _ better….. _ although being so emotional really isn’t her normal state.

Anne doesn’t seem phased though- she just draws her in again with one arm and digs in her pocket for tissues with her free hand.

‘There was something else you said-’ She passes the tissues over to Cathy who wipes her eyes gratefully. ‘You know Aragon definitely doesn’t hate you right?’

She really doesn’t want to think of that right now- she definitely doesn’t want to talk about it- but she thinks Anne probably deserves an explanation. She’s taking up enough of her time (and her tissues. And Anne’s definitely going to have to wash her hoody now.)

‘I…. got a bit cross with her earlier.’

‘Ooh!’ Anne looks interested. ‘What did you say?’

‘I shouted. Told her to go away. Stop nagging, leave me alone….’

She wants to bite out her tongue for saying it at all… but Anne, when she looks up at her expecting to see her looking disgusted with Cathy’s ingratitude to the person who loves her most…..she’s _ laughing _ .

‘Is that ALL?’

‘….yes?’ ( _ Isn’t it enough? _ )

‘Oh my god, of course she won’t hate you for that!’ Anne tries to bite back another giggle and fails. ‘God, I know you’re always working but you’ve got ears- haven’t you heard us screaming at each other before?’

‘Well-’

( _ Now Anne mentions it- _ )

‘It’s...what half past two?’ Anne checks the time by just full-on rotating Cathy’s wrist to see her watch. ‘I’ve already called her a bitch twice this week and it’s only Tuesday. And she threatened to strangle me with my scarf if I left my stuff on the bannister rather than hanging it up. And don’t even get me started on last week when i used her conditioner-’

It’s true, Cathy supposes. Shouting matches aren’t exactly uncommon in the house. But somehow it’s different when it’s between Anne and Aragon- or even Anna and Anne. 

It’s loud but it doesn’t mean anything really- its just how they communicate. That Anne calls Aragon a bitch for using up the last of the hot water does not prevent her from offering to drive her to church when Aragon’s car won’t start. Aragon threatening to kill Anne in ever more inventive ways for leaving her belongings scattered around the house does not prevent her from making the younger queen a cup of tea after she’s done shouting.

That’s…..not her though. She and Kitty and Jane dont really go in for shouting or threats and so it feels different. More serious.

She tries to explain it to Anne.

‘- and then she just left’

‘Did she say anything?’

‘No. She just… went.’

Cathy presses her hands over her stinging eyes. ‘What if she was really hurt?’

‘Probably wanted to give you some space babes.’

‘But-’

‘That’s what she said to me anyway.’

Cathy’s head snaps up.

‘What? When?’

‘Well I was coming up to check on you anyway but then she was coming down the stairs when I was going up and she asked if I’d look in on you because she was worried…’

‘Did she look upset?’

Her heart lifts a bit anyway. Catalina did still care, at least a bit….

‘Mmm…..concerned, I’d say, more than upset. She really cares about you.’ Anne squeezes her hand. ‘Honestly, I think she just didn’t want to make things worse by staying because you seemed so stressed out. But she’s not cross, honestly.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course! In fact, if you’re that worried, just come and talk to her- you can even say sorry if you really want-’ Anne sits up. Cathy is dislodged and it feels suddenly colder, now she’s not nestled against Anne’s chest. ‘-but I bet she won’t let you.’

Anne makes it sound so easy but…. Cathy knows she won’t be able to make anyone else really understand. That’s not how it works, not for her.

_ They had all been clear that talking to Henry wouldn’t work- it was beyond that. She hadn’t been aware at the time that she’d pushed too far but she knew she had- the warrant in her hand was proof of that. It was terrifying really- how you could so carelessly talk your way out of someone’s favour without even realising, without even knowing you were doing it… or perhaps it was just her. In fact, it probably was her, there must be something wrong with her, that meant she couldn't read people, that she didn’t know when she was going too far. Even now, it scared her sometimes when she let herself think about it. _

‘Hey-’ Anne’s hand touches her hair, brushing aside a wayward curl. ‘She’s not him you know.’

‘How did you-’

‘Because I was married to him too, remember?’ Anne smiles gently at her. ‘He screwed us all up a bit, in his own way.’

And Cathy supposes she’s right.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, fluff, fluffy fluff.

It takes Anne a little over fifteen minutes to convince her to come downstairs and as she pushes open the living room door, she has to resist the urge to cling to the other girl’s sleeve.

(Of course, she wouldn’t actually be so pathetic. Probably. No matter how reassuring Anne’s….well, no matter how reassuring Anne is.)

For all Anne’s confidence though, she can’t help but try to prepare herself for the worst- Catalina refusing to acknowledge her, perhaps, or just staying cold and distant forever after.

After all, she was able to drive her own husband to want her beheaded. The fact that it wasn’t carried out, that had it been so, she would have been the third of three, the fact that Catalina is different from Henry in a thousand ways….it’s all evidence in her favour, she knows, but it’s still not quite enough to silence the tiny but persistent voice inside her head that tells her there is something wrong with her, whether it is a hasty temper or a lack of forebearance or even (and this gives her the most anxiety) that she is simply just really quite irritating.

In the end, though, after all the build up, her godmother isn’t even in the sitting room when she enters, Anne just behind her. Jane is sitting at the end of the sofa, Kitty tucked under her arm, watching Love Island and playing with a few strands of her daughters pink hair. Kitty is biting her nails, obviously only half paying attention to the screen.

‘Hello love-’

Jane smiles warmly at her- it’s a relief that she doesn’t immediately jump in with questions (where have you been, why have you been avoiding us, have you been crying, what was all the shouting?)- and Kitty jumps up and throws her arms around Cathy almost fiercely.

‘Are you alright?’

Honestly, Cathy wants to ask the same of Kitty- the girl looks pale, anxious.

‘I’m ok-’

‘I heard- shouting.’

Of course she heard shouting. Cathy suddenly feels really, really guilty- she knows, they all know, how much Kitty can’t bear the sound of raised voices. She’s just about gotten used to Anne and Aragon, after lots of reassurance from everyone that neither really ever means it. Cathy though never shouts, she never loses her temper-

(Today being the exception.)

‘I’m sorry- ‘

‘It’s fine. I’m glad you’re...ok...’ Kitty hugs her again. ‘I wanted to check on you but mum said you’d probably need some space.’

(She gives a tiny silent prayer of thanks for this- the last thing she would have wanted would be to have to worry about upsetting Kitty during her breakdown.)

‘It’s ok- Anne was with me-’

She’s going to say more but then the door opens and Catalina is there, holding a mug. 

There’s an awkward pause- she’s starts to stammer out the apology she has been rehearsing in her head- but she’s barely begun before she’s enveloped in her godmother’s arms.

‘I’m sorry-’

‘Hush, you have nothing to apologise for, querida. I’m just so glad to see you out of your room!’ The relief on Aragon’s face is palpable. 

‘I’m sorry I worried you though. And I snapped at you when you were only trying to help and-’

‘You were stressed.’ Aragon pulls back a bit and studies her. ‘And sleep deprived, from the look of you. You’re white as a sheet.’

Jane gently detaches Kitty and stands up to look at her too.

‘When was the last time you ate a proper meal love?’

‘Not last night’ Kitty chips in helpfully. ‘She didn’t come down for dinner and her pasta is still in the fridge…’

It’s funny- their concern isn’t frustrating now, it doesn’t sound like callous indifference to her need to work. Now, it sounds like what it is- loving concern.

‘Um...I’m not sure when.’ She is, actually, but she doesn’t really want to say. 

Luckily, Jane doesn’t push it.

‘Well, you look like you could do with something now.’

‘We saved you some pancakes from this morning’, Kitty volunteers. ‘And some of the Nutella. I think Anna had the last of the maple syrup though.’

‘It’s ok-’ Anne suddenly cuts in from where she’s been standing silently at Cathy’s elbow like a shadow. ‘You like lemon and sugar best, don’t you?’

‘Yes…’

It’s funny Anne has noticed- she didn’t really think she paid her much attention. It makes her wonder what else she’s been missing, what else she didn’t know about the girl who- it seems- has far more to her than Cathy has previously assumed.

Oh well, she’ll think about that later. For now, there are pancakes to eat.

*

The pancakes taste amazing, in the way that food only does after an extended period of not-eating, and then Kitty and Anne tug her back to the couch and sit either side of her so that she can’t disappear again. 

Not that she’s planning to. She’s missed being around people.

She’s also relieved that no one asks about her red eyes. While she’s eating, Aragon reaches over and plucks a scrap of paper from the hood of Anne’s hoody with a raised eyebrow and she holds her breath (she doesn’t really want to have Anne explain her tantrum in front of everyone) but Anne just shrugs when Aragon asks about it.

‘Just there for safekeeping. Who knows when you’ll need scrap paper?’

She expects everyone will drift away after they’ve assured themselves that she’s now better nourished, but they don’t.

Anna comes in from shopping and flings herself to her knees in exaggerated delight at seeing Cathy out of her room.

‘Do my eyes deceive me? She’s returned! The traveller has come home!’

Anna seizes her hands and kisses them delightedly, still on the carpet, and she can’t keep from laughing.

(It feels good to laugh again.)

‘I’ve been in my room the whole time, Anna.’

‘Still.’ She gets to her feet, still grinning, and begins to gather up the shopping from the floor. ‘It’s good to see your face again babes.’

(It’s silly, really. She’s never left the house- her room is next to Anna’s. And it’s only been a few days. Even so, it does feel rather like she’s come home.)

Jane asks if anyone fancies watching a film, and Kitty calls up Titanic from where they have it saved. (They’re working their way through the ‘classic’ films of the last hundred years.)

Anne stands up and announces that as a special treat, Cathy’s allowed to point out all the historical inaccuracies and no one can tell her to be quiet, but no one protests this new rule, and when Aragon makes salty rather than sweet popcorn, no one questions that or protests either although no one else really likes it that much.

It’s a bit odd- she’s not used to being indulged, at least not to this degree- but after everything, it’s soothing as it is unexpected.

Before the ship is even halfway through it’s journey, she finds her eyes are closing. Anne’s shoulder makes a surprisingly good pillow- or maybe it’s just Anne’s fingers playing with her hair that makes her feel so sleepy. Of course, several days worth of sleep deprivation probably is playing its part too….

When a small thud makes her stir later (she discovers the next day that it’s from Jane dropping the popcorn bowl and it ends up taking ages to hoover up the last kernels), there’s a blanket spread over her and a pillow under her head. 

A pillow that’s in Anne’s lap.

She should shift away, she knows: she’s probably crushing her legs, and Anne will probably be going stir-crazy, not able to get up and move around like she does whenever they all watch films together…. But she doesn’t really want to move.

She’s too comfortable.

Anne’s voice tickles close to her ear. ‘It’s alright, go back to sleep. Everything is ok.’

(There’s a light pressure against the top of her head- like a kiss being pressed into her hair- but of course, that’s silly to imagine.)

(Of course.)


End file.
